


Sweet Blood

by TheWitchMaker



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Dog Dick, F/M, Female Hunter, Hard vore, Knotting, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Teratophilia, Werewolf, fucked to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWitchMaker/pseuds/TheWitchMaker
Summary: You, a female hunter, are woefully unprepared to face Father Gascoigne. As a result, you're ripped up and fucked to death with his giant werewolf dong.Seriously, it's fucked up, you've been warned.
Relationships: Father Gascoigne/The Hunter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 64





	Sweet Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I've never played Bloodborne in my entire life but I like priests, werewolves, and irish accents.
> 
> someone requested this on tumblr.

You counted yourself lucky when you survived the swing of his axe. You’d jumped back to avoid it, but did so a moment too late. While you narrowly dodged a fatal blow, the heavy and wickedly sharp blade still sliced through your hardened leather armor and opened a nasty gash in your thigh. You knew you couldn’t keep fighting with that injury, but you thought you might be able to run away.

You were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

As you turn tail, pain tears down your back. Not from an axe, but a set of jagged claws hooking into your flesh. You’re down before you can take a single step, and pinned before you can try to crawl away. The beast that was once Father Gascoigne crouches on top of you, his long-fingered hands grasping your arms and keeping them flat on the ground. He pants and growls over you. From his fanged maw, hot, slimy drool drips down and stings your open wounds. Your eyes well up with tears, but you hold firm and make no sound. Maybe, like the filthy animal he is, he’ll lose interest if you play dead.

“Blood… Sweet… Rich…”

You can just barely make out words from his feral snarling.

“Sickening.”

Your efforts to keep still and silent go to waste as Father Gascoigne drags his tongue up your spine, the rough texture catching and pulling at the edges of his claw marks. You squeal and dig your fingers into the dirt below you. His grip tightens.

“Noisy, pretty prey… More…”

He shifts, and you realize with a twist of disgust that he’s started rutting against you. Whatever beastly form it takes now, the member straining against the cleric’s tattered trousers is hard as a rock, and radiates feverish heat all the way through your leathers.

“Mm… Moo—oore…”

His claws hook into the waist of your clothes.

“No—!”

Your desperate gasp does nothing to deter the beast, nor to prevent the destruction of your trousers. All at once, you’re laid bare and vulnerable, and Father Gascoigne soon exposes himself as well. His cock is heavy and scalding hot, drooling precum as it rubs against the cleft of your ass. He growls and whines with each breath, shifting the angle of his hips in an attempt to penetrate.

You pray for him not to. One of his massive hands has moved to hold your head down to the earth, stopping you from looking back at what’s happening, but you can certainly feel his length and girth. It’s huge. The head is mercifully tapered, but the shaft feels thicker than your wrist. And worst of all: at the base is a knot at least the size of your two fists combined.

“Please, gods, no…!”

The monster hits his mark. His cock pierces straight through to your core in an instant, but you feel it in slow motion. Inch by loathsome inch. Splitting your cunt in two. Your agonized scream is lost underneath the equally primal baying of Father Gascoigne. You thought his claws were painful. They’re a soft caress compared to the feeling of your flesh tearing like tissue paper. And then he begins to move, and somehow that’s even worse.

He’s too big. Far too big. Even as he thrusts his hips, his member never leaves your pussy. Rather, it drags your inner walls out with it like a gruesome sleeve. It makes no difference to the beast, though. He just continues to pound away, undeterred by your cries and struggling. The only thing that gives him pause is the way your body begins to slip in the mud below you. His jaws clamp onto your shoulder, crunching your bones to pieces.

You barely feel it.

Something just breaks in you, and you feel nothing. It’s like you’re wrapped in thick wool, dulling the pain. You feel something squeezing rhythmically around your arm, but not the sharp teeth gnawing at the meat of it. You feel so, so very full, but you’re no longer aware of the bloody, ground-up mess Father Gascoigne has made of your cunt. You only hear your flesh and tendons give way as he rips the arm clean off. Your own limp hand dangles from his maw, right in front of your face.

You laugh weakly. The beast howls and gives a final thrust into your ruined body, knot and all. You were so cold before, having lost so much blood… The liquid fire filling you up now is almost soothing. It just keeps coming, pumping deep into your womb until you feel your stomach swell and the excess seep out around his engorged cock and down your thighs.

You’re gone mere moments later.

Eventually, the monster’s knot shrinks back down and disengages from your corpse, but by this time you’re already far away, waking back up at the Hunter’s Dream and considering your options very carefully before facing the cleric once more.


End file.
